Between Arlington and Austin

A traveling stranger
taught me to move
my feet to keep
from falling into that circle
of anxiety--insane,
revolving,
automatic,
directionless.
I would peer into his
strange eyes--shrinking,
widening, capturing, gleaming
like some purple
magenta square stone
long lost at home.

Now, as my mother sings
and firefly rain
falls all around my
hopeful excitement;
I wonder fully and
give half-assed affection
to those dispersed women
slowed by misunderstandings,
men mulligans,
and mazes.

And the road can be cold,
and the road can be hot,
but the road has my trust.
Be sure to miss the God rush,
catch the Incident,
bring out your Dead,
know shades of Grey,
spread Rothbury,
miss the Moon, hug Hubble,
embrace Barry's change,
learn from Yasgur's
and read Songs of the Doomed.

Already, I miss that last
bite, sip, or whiff
of my life's morning
sun. Bright and golden
are the good times
we hold so close
that memory is our skin
is our thinning hair
is our racing heart
is our jeweled teeth
is the cracks
of crusty lip that we
bite, tear, chew
and digest unto our
bodies again and again.

RwmG

Be There

Some of us on this breathing sphere
see things slip and sink.
Some of us on this wet rock
see things climb and expand.

In a polite town is where I reside.
I move and get down to the beats inside,
and live to dream about a worldwide Shakedown-
where hearts and eyes gleam and honest reality is found.

Some of us on this breathing sphere,
hope for shortcuts and sedation.
Some of us on this wet rock,
hope for equality and pretty peace

It beats me how they can continue to fall down
this circling Ferris wheel of anxious frowns.
Roads are often dark and wide, lights bright,
for the old and inexperienced alike.

Some of us on this breathing sphere,
are playing with reverence to our mistakes
Some of us on this wet rock,
are setting off explosions in our minds.

My hand rests upon my finally shut eyes.
At this stubborn sudden moment i realize
I've been getting the shakes and permahigh
and I see now how far out Saturn lies.

Some of us on this breathing sphere,
want to be gone.
Some of us on this wet rock,
want to be there.

RwmG